Monthly Archives: December 2012

One of my favorite holiday recipes has absolutely nothing to do with dinner or dessert. I’ve had this strata recipe for years, and it comes from the kitchen of Anne Morse. My former husband and I enjoyed many gourmet dinners with Anne and her husband Andy as part of a couples’ gourmet club in the 1980s and 1990s. They hosted fabulous New Year’s Eve parties, too. The lucky ones who got to spend the night were treated to this the next morning. I don’t recall it being a cure for a hangover, but it certainly helps get one’s new year off to a good start. My tradition since marrying John is to serve this beautiful strata on Christmas morning, accompanied by crisp bacon, perhaps some fresh fruit, and steaming mugs of tea (for John) and coffee (for me). It’s a great stick-to-your-ribs breakfast on a cold morning. I use sharp cheddar rather than mild, herbs and seasonings from Penzeys, and for this particular occasion I bought good semolina bread from Whole Foods. Any white bread will do—I’ve even used baguettes—just so long as the bread is dense and has had a chance to get slightly stale. If it’s too soft you can slice it and leave it sit on the counter for a few hours.

The recipe serves as many as six, but if you’re feeding a crowd you can easily double it (using two soufflé dishes, of course). Just pay careful attention to the note about doubling that follows. And take special note of the timings. Enjoy, and Happy New Year!

Grease a medium large casserole with high sides—I use a soufflé dish. Line the bottom with bread. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, followed by 1/3 of the onion, 1/3 of the parsley, and 1/3 of the grated cheese. Repeat this process two times. Beat eggs lightly, then add milk, Worcestershire sauce, and mustard. Pour the egg-milk mixture over the contents of the casserole.** Cover with plastic wrap and let stand in the refrigerator for 8 hours. In the morning, remove from the refrigerator and let rest on the counter at room temperature for 2 hours. Bake uncovered for 50 minutes at 375-degrees.

*If doubling the recipe to serve 12 instead of 6, use only five cups of milk.

**I find two tricks help avoid a mess when adding the milk mixture to the strata. First, poke a few holes in the top of the strata so the milk can more easily seep down into the bottom of the dish. Second, place the dish on a baking sheet to catch any overflow. Wipe away any drips and place the entire apparatus—soufflé dish on top of the baking sheet—in the oven.

Wordlessness. Def: When you have no words. When something is so shocking, heartbreaking, and horrific that you are compelled to create a new language to describe it. In Act 3 of Hamlet, Shakespeare advises:

Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.

But I have no words to describe what happened last Friday in the bucolic little town of Sandy Hook—certainly no words to fit my feelings to the awful action. No words of comfort to those devastated parents and families. No words to try and process the snuffing out of those 20 bright lights…those beautiful, wondrous children. And so I invent a new word. And because I’m still numb, my emotions still so raw, I am dedicating this space on my blog today to the words of others. I want you to read them. Please. And then find the action to suit the word.

And yet I have managed to find some words, haven’t I? The very act of writing this appeal to you has allowed language to do something, even if that something doesn’t feel like all that much right now.

I’m sure I’m not the first one to note that Adam Lanza’s monstrous act is a tipping point for our country—not just with respect to the conversations we need to have about gun legislation, but also with respect to the honest dialogue we must engage in with respect to mental health care. But conversation and dialogue cannot simply be words strung together into sound bytes and position papers. Theymust—finally, now, at long last—result in action.

We need to suit the action to the word. But what action? My personal goal: an action that will halt the chaotic orbit our society’s been traveling—a galaxy with constellations named Columbine; Aurora; Tucson; Virginia Tech; Oak Creek, Wisconsin; Fort Hood; and Sandy Hook. And so many more.

Here are the thoughts of some GenFab bloggers. Sharon Greenthal, for example, whom I admire and respect, wrote a useful post filled with resources about what you can do to become part of the change we want to see in the world. I encourage you to read these posts. You might not agree with some of them. I don’t necessarily agree with those who say one societal problem is more poisonous than another; I think that both prongs of the devil’s pitchfork need to be blunted. I do, however, want to present you with the various sides and nuances of this issue.

If you are on Twitter, please follow the hashtag #stopitnow. And please add your voice to the collective.

The Panasonic Flash Xpress Toaster Oven, carefully positioned to do no harm.

Here’s how I roll: I use my traditional stove for cooking, my traditional oven for baking, and my microwave for reheating—usually mugs of coffee. When I want toast, I use my toaster. I never understood the point of a toaster oven just as I never understood the point of a rice cooker: both have always struck me as redundant kitchen appliances. (What? You can’t throw some water, rice, and salt in a covered saucepan and read the instructions on the label? Seriously?)

No, it’s just never made sense to me to dedicate valuable kitchen counter real estate for something that, to my mind, has little real utility. Don’t take away my blender or my mixer, and don’t you dare touch my coffee maker, but to a toaster oven I say, “Meh.”

Such is the preconceived bias with which I approached this product review as a member of the Viewpoints Blogger Panel. (You can read my review on the Viewpoints website, along with those of my colleagues on the panel.) I thought there might be a ghost of a chance that I could be convinced, thus becoming a zealous convert to the joys of toaster-oven-cooking. But after using the thing twice, I’m sorry to have to say no. That didn’t happen—the Panasonic Flash Xpress Toaster Oven has not made me see the light. (Although we’ll get to the oven’s light, and its potential hazards, in a moment.)

Let’s begin with first impressions.

The thing looks like a toy. The Kenner Easy-Bake Oven I played with as a child surely had more heft and substance. The toaster oven is ten-and-a-quarter inches high, thirteen inches deep, and twelve inches wide. It weighs a mere seven-and-a-half pounds. This is all fine if you’re short on space and upper body strength, but as I said in my first paragraph …

I must add that I found the oven’s numerous disclaimers slightly alarming, especially this one:

Do not use the toaster oven near wall or cabinet.…Keep the toaster oven away from flammable materials (wooden wall or cabinet) as follows: Rear: more than 10 cm (4 inches) Top: more than 15 cm (6 inches). Side: More than 10 cm (4 inches).

I carefully (and nervously) measured the area around the oven before I determined it was safe to proceed.

Infrared ray heating elements heat the surface and inside of the food efficiently. But the cautionary bullet points in the owner’s manual include this advice: “Do not stare at the near-infrarde [sic] ray heater for a long time. It could cause injury to your eyes.”

I felt like Carol Anne in The Poltergeist, being warned to STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT.

After regaining my composure, I began my test. I purchased all-natural frozen whole-wheat waffles, and decided upon a three-tiered experiment. First, I prepared the waffles in the toaster oven according to the package directions on the waffles. Ten minutes? Really? Okay, Van’s. If you say so.

The waffles are toasting. Don’t look at the light!

Ten minutes were clearly too long. And I cannot blame the toaster oven for this; I followed the package instructions. The waffles looked like hockey pucks and tasted like shredded twigs.

A couple of mornings later, I prepared the same breakfast, but this time I followed the toaster oven’s directions instead of relying upon the waffle’s cooking instructions. I placed the waffles on the rack, same as before. (I never did use the oven tray; perhaps one of my colleagues on the Viewpoints panel did.) This time, I pressed the button for “waffles,” stood back (not looking at the light), and let the product do its thing. I had waffles in about four minutes. Nothing could have been simpler. And I have to admit, they were nicely browned, with a nice exterior crispness. My eating experience was as pleasant as one could expect, considering I was eating frozen waffles. (I do own a waffle iron, by the way. Guess I’m old-school.)

The results of test number two? I used less energy by cutting the cooking time in more than half, and I ended up with tastier waffles. So what did I do for my third test?

You guessed it!

I popped two frozen waffles in my toaster, set the dial to a medium setting (I referred to the package instructions for toaster cooking), and in two minutes—two minutes, people—I had delicious waffles. Warmth being a matter of personal preference, I put the plate of waffles in the microwave and zapped them for an additional 15 seconds. Perfection. Lightly crisp on the outside, moist and tender on the inside…

The prosecution rests.

I’m in the midst of preparing for our relocation to Ohio, so unfortunately I had to sit out the discussion with my colleagues on the panel. When Viewpoints posts it I’ll add a link so you can see if I’m all alone on this toaster oven limb. I’m donating the toaster oven (with reservations, given my less-than-stellar review) to the Safe Harbor Shelter of Richmond, Virginia, with the proviso that they give it to a deserving family without small children.

As always, I couldn’t do it and I wouldn’t be here it if weren’t for you.

If you have a moment, I’d love it if you could visit the HP site and like the article on Facebook, or tweet it, or leave a comment. In the wonderful world of digital publishing, that sort of activity makes a tremendous difference. Thank you in advance for your extra support!

With Dave Brubeck in October 2003, prior to taping a television interview with Cleveland’s WVIZ on the campus of Oberlin College. Photo courtesy of WVIZ-TV.

The world lost an irreplaceable treasure yesterday. The legendary composer and pianist Dave Brubeck, whose singular brand of musicianship and artistry changed the sound of jazz in the 1950s while ushering in an entirely new way to listen to the music, died the day before his 92nd birthday.

The Dave Brubeck Quartet had a sound like no other. Brubeck had studied classical music with French composer Darius Milhaud, and although he and his quartet were often considered integral contributors to the jazz genre known as West Coast “cool,” Geoffrey C. Ward writes in Jazz: A History of America’s Music (the companion book to Ken Burns’ PBS series), that there was “nothing remotely cool” about Brubeck’s playing:

He was a fiery, uncompromising improviser—dissonant, unsentimental, rhythmically daring. … His style was perfectly complemented by the playing of alto saxophonist Paul Desmond: light, lyrical, floating …like the sound, Desmond himself famously said, of a dry martini.

On a wintry March night in 1953, the Dave Brubeck Quartet performed in Oberlin College’s historic Finney Chapel. This alone was remarkable; Oberlin, home of the renowned Oberlin Conservatory of Music, was a bastion of classical music. Jazz? No one studied jazz at the conservatory in those days. Jazz was something kept under wraps and underground. Until Brubeck. And the aftermath was groundbreaking. Ward writes:

The audience—including the conservatory students—responded with ovation after ovation. The concert was recorded, and the album that resulted—Jazz at Oberlin—helped build enthusiasm for Brubeck. He was signed by Columbia, the nation’s biggest label; made another live album, called Jazz Goes to College; and soon found himself the leader of the most popular jazz group in the country.

Fifty years after that historic concert at Oberlin, I had the opportunity to meet Dave Brubeck. He had returned to campus with his current quartet to perform a concert marking the 50th anniversary of Jazz at Oberlin’s release. Because I was in charge of media relations for the conservatory, it was my task to publicize not only the concert—ensuring that every seat in the 1,200 capacity chapel was filled—but also the fact of the iconic jazz master’s return to the scene of his great achievement.

He was gracious and down-to-earth, with a twinkle in his eye and a sincere interest in Oberlin’s students. He generously signed the liner notes to my copy of Jazz at Oberlin. He walked slowly when he went out on stage, but when his fingers hit the keyboard, he was transformed; he played with the vigor and athleticism of a man half his age.

There are dozens of albums in the Dave Brubeck Quartet discography—1959’s Time Out is arguably the most famous and revered, and justifiably so. But my favorite will always be Jazz at Oberlin.

Click here for more information about jazz at Oberlin today, including a history of the development of the jazz studies curriculum.

This is not “Steve.” To find out who this is, please read the entire post.

Let’s call him Steve. After all, that’s what he called himself on Match.com. And who’s to say if that was his real name?

Steve and I have never met, but he’s the reason I decided to step off the Match.com bus, and for that I owe him my gratitude. Why? Because in the world of online-dating algorithms, where any click, keyword, or action is fraught with significance, stumbling across his profile, which he had the cheek to title “Thank You For Shopping at the Man Store,” ricocheted me onto a fateful course.

It was time for me to renew my six-month subscription on Match.com. Or was it? Steve’s headline was a wake-up call of sorts: If what I was doing was “shopping at the man store,” well, in the words of the immortal Bard: “Yuck.”

Four years of on-again, off-again attempts to meet someone in cyber-land had taken their toll. This was clearly a stupid way to meet people, and I was done. Finished.

That weekend I sent Match my notification that I’d not be renewing, and went about my business.

I had taken a few vacation days from work, and the next day, a Monday, was beautiful and bright outside. I was about to go out for a walk. But the siren call of the inbox lured me from my intended rounds.

I still had a couple of days before my Match profile vanished from public view. Now, with the pressure off, it might be fun to log onto my email and see what new horrors awaited me.

Well what do you know? With just a couple of days left to go on Match, I get a nibble.

I click the link that takes me to the Match website, and click again to see what Match has to say about him.

“He’s a 55-year-old man living in Cleveland, OH.”

Okay, age is fine. Geography, manageable.

“You both fancy felines. Like you, he’s not a smoker. He has a graduate degree.”

An intelligent cat-lover who doesn’t have nicotine stains on his teeth. This just keeps getting better and better.

I click on the link to his profile.

Ah. He’s included a picture. That’s always a good sign. There’s nothing creepier than seeing a faded blue head in silhouette accompanied by a wink (or, sometimes, a leer).

Wait. This is a nice picture. Look at those bright, clear blue eyes! And gosh darn it all, he’s got a dog, too! That is, if he didn’t rent the pup for the picture. (Had I grown cynical? Yes, just a little, around the edges.)

I was aware of the cyber-clock ticking. In a couple of days, I’d be lost to ArtsandSportsLvr forever. I had a decision to make. I could let boy-and-his-dog into my life, or let them trot off into the sunset. And live out the rest of my days with my cats.

Hello, and thank you for your interest.
I must say that from what I read in your profile, we seem to have much in common. You also have a great smile; it suggests a good, kind soul.

My subscription to Match ends this week, and I’m not renewing it. If you would like to get to know me off-line, as it were, and wish to send me a note, here’s my e-mail address in the real world:

[excised]

Have a wonderful day!

—Marci

I go out for my walk, and when I return, there’s a message waiting for me:

Marci, thanks for sharing your e-mail address. I would like to continue chatting until you get comfortable enough to plan a get-to-know-you meeting. I was introduced to the Oberlin concerts at the gazebo last year and enjoyed two of them. The theater there is a wonderful bargain as well. I have been told that the art museum is worth the trip and is on my list of to-do’s this summer.

Now you have my e-mail address and feel free to use it.

John

“Go out and make a difference in the world and it will make a world of difference in you.” – JR

I’m intrigued. A guy who includes a quote from himself in his email signature. That could seem pretentious, but this doesn’t strike me that way. I like the philosophy here. Could this be a man who’s not full of himself? An actual nice guy?

After a few more emails, we agree to speak on the phone.

I like his voice.

We set up a meeting at the museum in the town where I live.

That date, our first, lasts seven hours.

Reader, I married him.

I know I had become cynical about online dating toward the end of my tenure, but with success and the passage of time, it’s clear to me that I really had to give the algorithms time to do their work. John and I would never have met without the nudge from our cyber Dolly Gallagher Levi.

I wrote about this experience, and the online dating phenomenon, for the Richmond Times-Dispatch in an article published September 4, 2011. My research included interviews with Amy Canaday of Match.com’s public relations office, and two experts— Mark Brooks, an online dating consultant, and Dr. Robert Epstein, a contributor to Scientific American Mind.

When I interviewed Canaday by email in 2011, she told me that in the previous five years, the fastest-growing demographic for Match.com was the 50-and-older age group.

Unattached boomers? Are you listening?

Readers, this post is part of a GenFab Blog Hop. To begin reading all of the posts on the subject of “How I Met My Significant Other,” please click here.